


Coffee. Black. Two-and-a-half sugars.

by EPLanaway



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, An ambiguous fanfiction for an ambiguous game, Angst and Tragedy, Drama, M/M, Psychological, joseb?, self-destructive love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2808479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EPLanaway/pseuds/EPLanaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is as it always has been, and yet, everything has changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee. Black. Two-and-a-half sugars.

“Sebastian?”

_No._

“…Seb?”

_No, something isn’t right here._

“…Honestly, Seb, if I knew you were this tired from last night’s case I would’ve finished off this file myself.”

Sebastian opens his eyes, and squints at the bright sunlight – and flares his nose at the lingering aroma of coffee. Black. Two-and-a-half sugars. The fresh air in the room is crisp, and Sebastian isn’t conservative when he indulges in it. Deep breath in, hold for three seconds, deep breath out. The table is cold to his calloused fingertips, and while uncomfortable, it’s a reminder of the gift of life. He traces the carvings on the oak table, made with his own hands while working on a tedious case. A couple of tally marks. A game of noughts and crosses. A figure of eight. Is there someone else here? Yes, the soft voice, the rustling of paper, footsteps that gently approach and stop somewhere in front of Sebastian’s desk. Coffee. Black. Two-and-a-half sugars.

Everything is as it always has been, and yet, everything has changed.

“Jesus, Seb, were you listening to anything I just said? We have to get this done in an hour. I made you some coffee... Come on, I need my partner here.”

_Something… Something is really off._

With a groan, Sebastian raises his head, uttering a muffled; “Mm’fine. Update me,” and instantly regrets his actions – the harsh, brisk air instantly feels intense against the warmth of his cheek, and condensation leaks from his mouth. (“Papa is a dragon!” A little girl shouts excitedly. Pure, unfiltered happiness. The light of your life, forever. I love you. _I loved you._ ) It couldn’t possibly be this cold. Not in Krimson City. Not at this time of year. A gloved hand gently places the coffee in front of Sebastian, before its owner leaves to close the window. There’s no time to play around anymore. An intense, electrifying, sexual aroma.

Black coffee, slightly stirred, two-and-a-half sugars.  
Two-and-a-half. It’s specific, and it’s pitiful.

Sebastian’s attention is instantly drawn away from his thoughts when that kind, gentle voice – “Alright, I’ll go over it again, but I’m not happy that you keep dozing off, Seb. We have to know this one back to front,” – places itself into a chair in front of him. It’s a proximity that is comfortable, and Sebastian feels himself relax. The window has been closed. The only thing left to do now is to listen, to answer when appropriate, and to always have the scent of that fucking black coffee in the back of his throat, his lips, his eyes, his fingers, his -

“Aria went missing on the 6th December, 2012. There were no signs of foul play when we originally went over the case. However, thanks to the hard work of Detective Robinson – who, just so you’re aware, I had to apologise to when she heard the comments you made – new information has come out of the case. The first is –“

“Yadda yadda, so on, so forth. I know the rest. Just quiz me on it or something.”

Unfazed by the comment, the other man smiles slightly, before putting down the file. Burdened. The window is open again. The breeze comes in, and suddenly the smell of coffee invades his senses for what feels like the millionth time. Sebastian brushes his trench coat with his fingers. It’s greasy to the touch. You can’t wash this coat, because papa is a dragon.

_You know why this is wrong._

“Alright, I’ll just pull out the main parts. Who does Detective Robinson believe is connected to this case?”

“Bruce Mallett. The bastard who grouped up all those school kids.”

“And where do they believe Aria is now?”

“Alaska, all trails lead there.”

“What is my name?”

“Joseph Oda.”

“How old am I?”

“33.”

“What kind of coffee is that?”

“Black, slightly stirred, two-and-a-half sugars.”

“Why weren't you at my funeral?”

_Everything… Everything is as it should be._

Sebastian’s fingers no longer find recluse in gripping the edge of the oak table – it melts like butter, and it drips like acid. The gooey substance produces that same reek, that blissful aroma like the shitty black coffee that Joseph Oda would always buy from that corner shop next to his apartment. (“I’m friends with the family. It’s good to be supportive of smaller businesses.”)

The stench is overpowering in every way. Myra’s trench coat sticks so tightly to his skin while the room decides what shade of icy blue to turn, manipulating itself, adjusting to the needle in Sebastian’s stomach that this man’s gentle question has punctured him with. A black liquid oozes from the stitches in Myra’s coat – _Papa is a dragon_ – drenching his clothes and overflowing into the carpet. He’ll just get the cleaners to deal with that later. It’s fine. It’s fine.

_Everything is as it should be._

The man is still staring at Sebastian with the same melancholic smile. The window is closed. The air is heavy on Sebastian’s lungs, and his legs become heavy with the black liquid, oozing from both his coat and his table, smothering his feet. The man doesn’t speak any more. He just stares at Sebastian, his hair pristine, his hands folded in his lap, his clothes immaculate, with that small, sad smile. He doesn’t seem to mind the bullet wound in his chest. He doesn’t seem to mind when Sebastian takes the cup of black coffee and pours it on the floor, nor when the cup drips through Sebastian’s fingers and splatters rhythmically onto his forever and always spotless shoes. Again. Again. Again.

The papers begin to melt, akin to wax. The greasy liquid on the floor, now a combination of what were once many solid objects, gives off a miasma. It reminds Sebastian of when Lilly brought home a stray cat – greasy, oily, vulgar. Sebastian is reminded of Myra’s stern expression, her expression when she stated that this cat had to go. Lilly didn’t cry – rather, she cleaned it up with a large amount of kitchen roll (and washed her hands a few times when they got too sticky), before she sent the cat on its way. Myra laughed. She planned on getting some sort of pet for Lilly. I love you.

The birdcage that Sebastian immaculately created is crumbling, but the beautiful songbird within remains pristine.

_I created this world for you. Please, live as you always have done. You can’t leave me. Stay with me here._

“You can’t keep me in this place forever, Sebastian.”

_Shut the fuck up._

“This has gone on for too long. It’s time to say our goodbyes.”

The doll doesn’t seem to mind when two hands wrap themselves tightly around its neck. It doesn’t seem to mind when Sebastian’s tears spill onto its face. It doesn’t mind when the disgusting, viscous liquid that smells like cheap coffee fills its mouth and clouds its eyes and holds it to the floor.

Sebastian strangles the stranger for what feels like hours. And then minutes. And then seconds. Sebastian holds his hands tight around the stranger’s neck until he notices that the cup of coffee has regained its physical form in the viscous lake. The strangers lips are upturned in some parody of a human smile, his whole face and body a parody of the Joseph Oda that Sebastian Castellanos knew in life. The kind, loving smile that he didn’t appreciate enough when it was still around. The same lips that drank cheap black coffee, slightly stirred, two-and-a-half sugars every morning.

Or was it three-and-a-half?

The window is open.

_These emotions will not change._

“Sebastian?”

_This happy day-to-day life is reality._

“…Seb?”

_Everything is as it always has been._

“…Honestly, Seb, if I knew you were this tired from last night’s case I would’ve finished off this file myself.”

_Nothing has changed._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really a fanfic writer. Honestly, the last fanfiction I wrote was back in 2010 when I was a 13 year old watching Doctor Who. Sometimes you just get an itch you can't scratch, and turns out you can scratch it by writing it down.
> 
> The problem here though is that I can never, ever write anything that has one single interpretation. Even the fanfiction I wrote when I was 13 was an exploration into the Doctor's psyche during his death. So, tbh, this fanfiction is also more of an exploration into the psyche. I hid a lot of things in this fanfiction, so if you're confused as to what exactly is happening, try to piece together the smaller details to get a somewhat clearer picture.
> 
> This fanfic was originally meant to be a rewrite of a scene from a particular manga (which in itself was pretty dark), but as I started writing I realised I wanted to go for a more serious type of scene, so now it is only very loosely based on other material.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this fic. :)


End file.
